Berlin, 14.11.00 Two weeks. Three weeks old, two weeks at home. The time has flown by. We're not doing too badly; Madeleine is relatively low-maintenance as babies go (or so I'm told). I'm getting plenty of sleep as I don't wake up for the late-night feedings. But it's a lot of work, and the constant sense that things could spin wildly out of control at any second does tend to wear one down a bit. I am able to train - not as much as before, but more than I had feared. This is a good thing. I can ride my new mountainbike on the weekends and skate ice or inline two or three nights a week. If I could only make it to the gym, everything would be perfect. Annette is doing fine, a bit more tired than I but that's to be expected. The cat has behaved admirably. Liz is here for a week, doing a training camp visit. Life is good, Berlin is still fun, the job is perfectly okay, yada, yada, yada. Actually I need to be more positive, since all I ever say about the new domestic situation is things like "it's not completely hellish" or "it's not as bad as I expected". Madeleine is pretty bright and alert and cute and all that, particularly when she's not yelling her head off - Annette won't be eating any more Thai curry for a while, thank you - or spewing shit all over the bathroom, which is very special. I am a mean and abusive father, however. I mock her horribly when she cries: "Your feeble, impotent baby rage will achieve nothing!" I compare her unfavourably to other pets: "Look, I put toilet paper on her head and she's too dumb to knock it off. The cat is way smarter." And I sing sadistic little songs about how we might cook her up for a meal. (We'll chop you up in pieces/And stir them in a pot/We'll add some yummy spices/To make you taste quite hot.) Annette is putting a stop to that, however, because one day the poor child will understand me. She looked a bit nervous being bathed in the sink last night, and I suspect my comments about Baby Soup may have had something to do with it. I will have to watch my language eventually, I know, but I'm secretly hoping that one day she'll be sent home from kindergarten for calling her teacher a "giant shit-filled piņata." The great thing about babies is that you can say and do all manner of cruel and degrading things to them, but they don't fight back! How fun. (I'm exagerrating - sometimes I'm nice to her too.) A message to America: The rest of the world thinks that you are complete idiots! I now see some positives in this wretched mess: Why bother with elections anymore? A court fight is clearly a better way of choosing a president, certainly a more accurate reflection of where power truly lies in post-20th century American democracy. Every four years the two parties go at it and sue each other (and everyone else in sight) for the presidency. Having the most money and the best lawyers surely confers as much legitimacy as receiving the ostensible vote of approximately one-quarter of the population. Why not? Link o' the day: BVG Underwear (this is only funny if you live in Berlin and/or speak German). I need to get me a pair of Krumme Lankes!